I Could Disappear
by Moonstone369
Summary: Determined to give Elena the human life he thinks she deserves, Damon compels her to leave the supernatural world of Mystic Falls behind—including him.Without her memories of witches, doppelgangers, and vampires and her love for one in particular, Elena starts a new life in New York.Damon struggles to reconcile all they've given up with all they stand to gain.S622 Alternate Ending
1. The Other: Elena

**This story was completely outlined before the last two episodes of season six aired, but it is canon with everything except how the season ended. This story will explore an alternate ending where Elena was merely seriously injured by Kai in the finale and Damon chose to compel away her memories of the supernatural.**

 ****POSTING UPDATE 7/11/15: For those of you that have already reviewed, favorited, and followed I have decided to change the format for how I post. Instead of long ginormous chapters I'm going to be updating by the scene. So the first original chapter will be divided into six chapters. If you're a returning reader look for chapter 7 as the newest update. If you're a new reader, just ignore this and read on!**

 **Chapter One:** The Other

 _One foot in front of the other,_

 _Keep breathing just like they taught you_

 **Elena**

It's been a long day.

It's all I can do to put one foot in front of the other, and yet I do manage to make it up the stairs, twist the key in the lock of my door, and shoulder into my tiny loft apartment. The raucous din of the Thursday night bar crowd wafts up from below only muted slightly by the floor between us, but I don't mind. I've grown accustom to the melodious laughter of strangers, the muffled conversations of inebriated relaxation.

I don't think Charlie, the laid back, henley-wearing bar owner with dark tousled hair and crooked smile, ever expected for me to stay as long as I have in this affordable but never quiet little bachelor pad. He even tried to warn me away as he was handing me the keys, but I've grown to love it here. One wouldn't think that such an environment would be suitable to a studious med student, but I do most of my studying nomadic-like in little coffee shops, diners, or my favorite restaurant in Little Italy all the while nursing bottomless mugs of hot caffeinated beverages. The only times I'm ever home, I'm cracking open a cold one on the couch in a t-shirt and panties enjoying the noises from below as if I were apart of it all, or I'm so tired my shoes barely make it off my feet before my head hits the pillow.

I'm not sure which of those categories this night belongs to, but it's becoming apart of a third category I don't readily wish to acknowledge. My bag and keys hit the table by the door. I flick on the light to the kitchenette portion of my living room/kitchen/bedroom room before peeling off my soiled scrubs and letting them remain somewhere between my ugly orthopedic shoes and the foot of my bed. I briefly miss the maroon of my uniform from Whitmore Medical as I note the various unidentifiable stains that mar the light blue fabric, but as my skin hits the comforter of my bed a different kind of nostalgia sets in.

Not bothering to pull back the covers or to dress in anything besides my mismatched bra and panties, I throw my arm out and grab my tablet from the bedside table replacing it with a phone full of voicemails and unanswered text messages. I've long since grown out of the cute little matching sets of pajamas I used to wear in high school—the too short plaid shorts and coordinating lacy camisoles. Now if it's anything at all, it's whatever I was wearing under my scrubs that day or if I've managed to make it to the shower that night, it's the softest black t-shirt I own and a pair of cotton panties. Cotton boy shorts have replaced most of the red lacy things that used to fill my underwear drawer, and the black t-shirt seems like the most luxurious article of clothing I own, though I have no recollection of where I got it. It came with me in the move from Whitmore. I think it must have belonged to an ex-boyfriend, but it's not something I could picture Matt or even Stefan ever wearing.

Now that I'm thinking about it, I swing my feet back over the edge of the bed to my dresser and grab the wad of soft, comforting material from the arm of my reading chair where I last discarded it. I pull it over my head, before jumping back into bed and relighting the screen of my shameless Facebook stalking.

Caroline's timeline is full of wedding details and thinly veiled statuses about unavailable bridesmaids that remind me guiltily of the three unanswered voicemails waiting for me on my phone. I've put in my request at the clinic and with my internship at the ER for two weeks in June, a whole week more than I know she expects me to, so I want to wait until I have the energy enough to enjoy her squeals of excitement. I know I haven't been there for her like she would be for me.

Bonnie is worse than me. Last I heard from her, she was in Massachusetts with her cousin, Lucy, but since she finished her Masters in comparative folklore, she's taken to traveling. She checks in occasionally with Caroline, and the last time I saw her was at the fitting for our bridesmaid dresses. Caroline thinks she has a mysterious boyfriend that she's run off with, so she keeps nagging her about seating arrangements, hinting that if she doesn't RSVP for a date that he won't have a seat at their table. I know better. Bonnie has the same look in her eyes I see reflected in the mirror. If there's a man in her life, it's not an emotionally available one.

I check my email and there's a short line from Jeremy confirming the tickets he's set aside for me for his Senior exhibition in the fall and letting me know he'll give them to me when he sees me at Caroline and Stefan's wedding. The second ticket like the plus one on Caroline's invitation is a courtesy that both of them know I wont take advantage of. I don't press Jeremy about the lost two years that he said he was in art school and wasn't, and he doesn't ask me about my love life—or lack thereof. I'm just happy to see him enjoying himself and succeeding in life. I know our parents' death has stayed with him in a way that I can't hold onto it. We look out for one another, and the holidays we spend together reaffirm for me that my brother will be okay. I can only hope he thinks the same of me.

Ric is somewhere without internet or cell reception again, though I halfheartedly look for an email anyway. I miss him. When all of us are together it feels like I belong to a family again even if it is a dysfunctional one—my brother who's really my cousin, my biological mother's widow, and me. We're all bonded by death, the crumbling remnants of families riddled with holes, smashed together into a mold made for happier times.

I know I won't see him at the wedding. It brings back too many memories for him of the aisle Jo never made it down. Watching my pseudo-father figure's pregnant fiancée be rushed to the hospital after fainting and hitting her head in front of me and then never seeing her again was the straw on a very laden back. It's what gave me the courage to finally pack up and leave Whitmore and Mystic Falls behind.

I briefly wonder if Matt will be at the wedding, too. He's the only one of us that stayed in Mystic Falls for very much longer after I left. I haven't seen him since the last time I was there which has been years. If it weren't for Caroline I wouldn't even be contemplating a return.

I drift off after that thinking it is one of those nights from the third category, and that category is loneliness.

 **Thanks for reading! Drop me a review and let me know what you think.**


	2. The Other: Elena2

****POSTING UPDATE 7/11/15: For those of you that have already reviewed, favorited, and followed I have decided to change the format for how I post. Instead of long ginormous chapters I'm going to be updating by the scene. So the first original chapter will be divided into six chapters. If you're a returning reader look for chapter 7 as the newest update. If you're a new reader, just ignore this and read on!**

 **If you read chapter 1 before 7/11/15 this will not be new. Look for chapter 7.**

 **Elena**

 _I'm standing at my parents' grave at the cemetery in Mystic Falls, and I gently lay the last two roses on the headstone before kneeling there. I look down the line of roses on the headstones of Jenna and John and sigh. I look up, and the sun is setting; the sky is darkening more quickly than is normal. A fog begins to fill the ground around me, and I watch in the distance as a dark figure, a man dressed in mourning clothes is walking down one of the aisles between the graves. I stand but the fog is obscuring him from view._

 _"Hello?" I call, but his shape has completely disappeared. Leaving the resting places of my family behind, I try to follow, but there is only darkness and fog now._

 _I pause, trying to remember why it was so important to follow the man in the first place. I begin to look for the Gilbert plot again, but not even the red of the roses is visible anymore._

 _Somewhere a bell is ringing, and my heart begins to race. Another one joins the chimes of the first and another. I look down at the ground around my sneakers and see a bell attached to a string in the ground. More bells ring out all around me, and I spin around in fright trying to reach my parents. They aren't dead; the dead are not dead anymore, and I have to reach them. I see the red of a rose on the nearest headstone and start toward it, but a hand bursts from the earth and seizes my ankle._

 _I scream._

 _The cacophonous bells drown me out as the blanket of fog becomes a murder of crows so thick all I can feel is the tickle and sting of their feathers and talons._

 _The grip on my ankle tightens and pulls me down into the earth. I desperately try to claw at the ground while fending off the crows with the other arm, but the grip of the dead is too strong, and I sink further._

 _The earth is not earth, and I gasp as the solid soil I was clutching turns to water. My head is pulled below the surface of a running current. More hands tug at my feet and ankles and pull me further from the breaths I need but will never take again. I kick at the hands, afraid to look and see who they belong to. The one that grabbed me when the river was a cemetery wore my mother's wedding ring._

 _I look up instead._

 _There's a small hand reaching out towards me in the murkiness. Though I know it is not strong enough to save me, I reach out and place my own surprisingly smaller hand in it and let it try._

 _The tug on my ankles releases, and the disembodied hand pulls me towards dappled light. The terror in my chest lifts as I break the still surface of a small summer swimming hole. Warm sun kisses my face as fresh air fills my lungs and giggles erupt from my body—the body of a child._

 _The giggles of another join mine, and a boy in the water beside me playfully splashes me. He's young, maybe eight years old. He smiles at me like he knows me, and I can't help but smile back. I think maybe I know him too; something about his kind green eyes is so familiar._

 _"Elena! Stefan!" a more familiar voice calls, and I turn my attention to the shore struck speechless by the sight. It's my mother sitting on the stony beach with another woman, both of them dressed in the most elegant of southern antebellum fashion. "Don't go too far," she calls._

 _I look back at Stefan, unable to deny that it is in fact him, and see that he is still smiling. I'm starting to tire from treading water, but he still seems so full of energy. He begins to swim towards the shore and turns to call back at me._

 _"Race you to the jumping tree!" he shouts at me with a grin before launching himself in that direction, knowing that he's given himself a head start. I throw myself after him, elated as I splash and struggle to catch up with him. As I reach shallower waters my bare feet grab a hold of the silt and stones that line the beach. I'm running now, treading through and splashing water everywhere. I feel so much heavier now that I am mostly above the surface and realize it is because whatever I'm wearing is weighed down with the water. It's a white dress trimmed in a navy collar and a pair of white three quarter bloomers all made out of a heavy flannel._

 _Running now is laborious and Stefan is far ahead of me. He always had the advantage in the cotton trousers and shirt that he has on. I want to call to him that he cheats with a laugh, but my foot catches a sharp rock, and I fall with a gasp into the shallow water. Tears well up in my eyes from the pain, but I've felt pain before; I can take it. I try to stand and can't manage it on my injured foot. I fall back down._

 _Stefan who has now gaily reached the jumping tree and is turning in search of me in triumph did not notice my fall. A young man I didn't see before on the beach farther away from my mother and the other woman but closer to me looks up from a book he was reading and sees my pained expression. He tosses his book to the side and stands looking concerned._

 _"Little Gilbert?" he calls with worry in his voice, rushing forward when I don't get back up on my own. He's wearing a pair of gray dress pants secured with suspenders over a long sleeve white button up and a wide brimmed straw hat. I can tell he never intended to do any swimming, but he hastens to me in the water in his nice shoes and clothes anyway._

 _"Miss Gilbert? Elena?" he begs a response again._

 _I look up at him with wide eyes, unsure of what to say, "My foot," is all I manage to get out. He scoops me up with ease in spite of the added weight of the sodden and ridiculous costume I'm wearing. I look up at him as he carries me the rest of the way to the shore and observe a mess of soft black curls peaking out from under his hat over a brow furrowed in concentration. Bright blue eyes that sparkle in the summer light are filled with anxiety, but they are kind, and I feel safe. I rest my head softly against his shoulder._

 _The two women are rushing to join us now along with Stefan, another boy the same age as my rescuer, and—I want to gasp—Jenna, not a day older than sixteen. My mother kneels at my side the best she can in all the crinolines she's wearing as the blue-eyed boy sets me on the shore._

 _"Elena dear, are you okay?" I look into her soft brown eyes and start to cry, though she thinks it because of my injury. "Oh, darling," and she embraces me._

 _"Thank goodness, you saw her, Damon," the other woman remarks, and I know my rescuer is her son, because his eyes are staring at me from under even longer eyelashes._

 _"Yes, Mr. Salvatore, thank you," my mother says with gratitude, but I look up at Damon with the knowledge that he is Stefan's brother. When he notices me looking, his gaze softens, and he kneels beside my foot. He lifts it and blood flows freely from a gash I cannot see. Damon observes it and turns to Stefan. "Don't look, Stefan," but his brother does not heed his advice and pales at the sight of the blood._

 _Stefan faints into his mother's arms; she drops her parasol to catch him._

 _"Oh dear," his mother starts. Damon shakes his head and smiles at me with a wink. He seems to know me well. Our families must be close._

 _Damon turns to his friend, "George, run ahead to the house and have someone fetch Dr. Gilbert. Take Miss Sommers and my brother with you. We'll follow in a moment." The young man followed his friend's direction and pulled Stefan out of his mother's arms. Damon turned back to me, ripping a piece of cloth from the hem of his white shirt._

 _"You'll be okay, Little Gilbert," he whispers to me using the same nickname he had before while gently wrapping my foot in the material before tying it off in a knot. "You're very brave," he smiled as he finished._

 _He pulled me up into his arms and the world faded away._

 **Thanks for reading! Leave me a review and let me know what you think.**


	3. The Other: Damon

**Damon**

It's been five years.

Normally, I'm not one to sit around counting anniversaries, marking the earth's rotations as if the arbitrary amount of time it takes us to circle the sun means anything. I know time passes, better than most. There's no need to glorify its passage by acknowledging its cruel tyranny over all of us with celebrations and memorials.

But I do it anyway.

It's been five years since Elena left Mystic Falls without a memory of her own supernatural reality or the part I played in it.

I swirl the bourbon in my tumbler and stare at the skyline of New York City, wishing I was more fucked up than I am. I throw back the bourbon in my glass, but it's not enough, and I know nothing ever will be.

Five years doesn't really matter. Fuck, it doesn't really amount to much in the grand scheme of things, but I remember the conversation we had on the front porch of the cheery-ass bed and breakfast from hell. I didn't know it at the time, but we were playing Russian roulette with a five year delay, and today—today feels like getting shot in the fucking face. She's the one who got the blanks, the blissful ignorance I've never been awarded.

Me—I'm stuck here with the knowledge that she's living out the future she imagined for us five years ago _without_ me. I know I had reasons, but they're getting harder to remember. Here I am, playing pretend, living out our make believe futures together—but apart. I'm in the same city, running the bar of a friend whose own heart I ripped out, and living in the loft above with the roommate queen of judgmental lectures.

Speak of the devil.

I hear her small feet, light on the stairs before creaking of the metal door officially announces her arrival. I lean back and stretch out on the ledge I've been perched on, letting my leg hang over the side and the empty crystal tumbler tinkle as it makes the short journey from my hand to the floor of the rooftop.

"Damon?" she approaches cautiously, but she's not afraid of me. She has no reason to be anymore. She's mastered the art of the vampire shock collar, and I've long since given up lashing out at her for things that are my own fault. That's friendship for you—a mutual agreement to not maim or kill the other person even temporarily.

I turn my head to the side and watch as the little witch scoots the plastic lawn chair closer to the edge of the building and to me and takes a seat. She pulls something out of the pocket of her shorts and twists it around in her hand.

"You left this downstairs," she remarks, lighting up the screen of my cell phone but making no motion to hand it to me.

I flash her a lopsided grin and look back up at the nearly starless sky. "You mean the blasphemous torture device of the twenty-first century?"

"Your brother called," she says with a smile, "And Caroline."

I groan in response, "And what'd they have to say?"

"I'm not your secretary, Damon Salvatore."

"Ah, you just don't want Blondie and Broody to know you're with me." I close my eyes and give her a tight-lipped smile, but it's more like a grimace.

"If anyone's Broody . . ." she trails off, probably remembering I can hear her however tight-lipped her mumbling is.

"You know I get it," she says changing the subject, "I get not wanting to be the third wheel to the happiest couple on Earth, but he's your brother, Damon. And he's getting married."

I scoff at her, rolling my eyes.

"Knowing Blondie, the two of them will be having a wedding every twenty years for the next century at least. I'll just skip the matinee and catch the next showing, especially considering the venue is perched on a Hellmouth." She shakes her head and looks down at my phone, scrolling through something. I smile devilishly this time.

"I wouldn't," I warn, but it's too late.

"Uggh! You're a pig," she exclaims as she stands and slaps the phone face down on my chest. I flash my eyes at her, grabbing her arm and sitting up.

"Why do you put up with me, then?" My eyebrows wiggle some more, and she's smiling now. I put my arms around her waist and pull her in between my legs while she laughs a little.

"I don't know," she closes her eyes and sighs. She's grown into her own in the last five years, and I take a moment to admire her. Her dark hair has grown out and she has it braided into cords and twisted elegantly on top of her head. She manages to stand a little taller now, even as short as she is and when she's angry, looking into her dark eyes is like looking into fire. I know.

Her time with Lucy and the coven in Massachusetts has given her some of her kindness back after being a victim for so long stole it from her. I know I did my fair share of hurting her in my struggle to hold onto Elena, but she doesn't let me regret it. She tries to keep me from living in the past. She doesn't know that it's the only place I've ever lived.

She opens her eyes and smiles sympathetically, taking my face in both her hands and kissing me softly on the forehead while I close my eyes. Then, she slaps me playfully on the cheek and pulls out of my embrace while I laugh. She heads towards the door as I lie back down on the ledge.

"Bon?" I call, but she knows better.

"Nope," she says paused with the door open and a disapproving look on her face, "If you want more bourbon, you come downstairs and get it yourself." She lets the door swing shut behind her.

I have a better idea that's going to hurt a lot more in the morning than bourbon ever will. I swing both my legs over the side of the building and sitting up now push myself off with the heel of both hands, falling into the night below.

 **Thanks to everyone who is reading, reviewing, favoriting, and following. I appreciate it so much!**


	4. The Other: Damon2

**Damon**

The light is on, and I pause from my perch on the fire escape to listen to the sound of her breathing. I was hoping to see her, to watch her curl up on the couch or push her hair behind her ear, but she's already asleep. All I can do now is listen to her breathing and try to remember that everything I've done up to this point since I met her was so that Elena could take these breaths.

I'm not sure what else I was hoping to accomplish. I'm not invited in. No vampires are. I've always known where she was, but sitting on a rooftop at Billy's or just outside her window, the distance is the same; it's an ocean.

She stirs in her sleep. I can hear the rustle of the comforter against her skin, and I wish I was that piece of material. It doesn't take my vampire upgrades to hear her cry out, and I'm at the window in a flash. It doesn't matter; I'm still supernaturally unwelcome. I strain my hearing for the sound of an intruder. I can only hear her. My dead heart is trying to beat the fuck out of my chest.

I can hear her thrashing now in the bed, whimpering as she struggles against invisible foes.

She's dreaming. Whatever it's about is not pleasant.

I fall back on the fire escape, lean my head against the cool glass, and close my eyes. I can feel her mind, and I reach out to touch it with my own. She hasn't been on vervain in a while. Bonnie takes care of protecting her from other supernatural forces, and it leaves Caroline free to compel her if someone slips and Elena sees something she shouldn't. I fought with Blondie on that one, but tonight all I care about is easing her pain.

She's drowning. I push further into her mind, so that I can inflict my own influence. I know just who to send to save her.

 **I know this was a short one, but I've decided to post my story by scene, so there will be both long and short chapters throughout the future. Thanks for reading, and don't forget to review.**


	5. The Other: Damon3

**Damon**

 _As I approach the main house of the Lockwood family plantation with the injured nine year-old Elena in my arms, she sighs and presses her head softly to my shoulder. My arms ache from the journey even though Elena weighs almost nothing. I'm soaked from my shirtfront down; my stovepipe boots are filled with water and slosh uncomfortably with each step, but I feel warm and alive. Her contentment is mine._

 _I left my coat on the shore of the Lockwood's lake. Father would beat me if he knew I was improperly dressed in front of ladies such as the Gilberts and Miss Sommers, but he'll never know._

 _The world shifts around me, and Elena is gone. There's a chill in the air and the day has turned into night without my notice. The Lockwood plantation house has been replaced by the traditional white facade of my childhood home. All the windows glow pleasantly in the night, the whole house illuminated from within. The four columns that frame the house are wrapped in greenery and the front door is trimmed in it._

 _I am shaken from my solace by the slap of an open hand against my shoulder blade, and I turn to see the rare sight of my father's smiling face. His cheeks are flushed from exertion and alcohol; a rifled musket is slung over his shoulder._

 _"Come, son," he calls a little too loudly, "the ladies are waiting for us to join the festivities."_

 _My father and I are among a group of men who all laugh unwarranted at his comment and follow behind him with expensive scotch on their breath and muskets slung over their arms. Midst them is Grayson Gilbert. He smiles at me with more affection than my father did. I can't help but to return it, thinking of the man who would've cut out my spleen had his twenty-first century counterpart lived to meet me in real life._

 _I step forward, bringing up the rear of the party. The dirt of the drive crunches satisfyingly beneath my riding boots, as a group of servants break off to lead our horses to the stables._

 _Once I enter the entrance hall of the Salvatore home, I'm enveloped in warmth and festive happiness. I can hear the fast tempo of the piano and smell the smoky aroma of rendering fat from the roasting pork. The ladies of the party, who must've been patiently waiting for our return, greet the men with curtsies and polite adorations. Miranda Gilbert steps forward and greets her husband with a loving smile and a gentle squeeze of the hand that would scandalize most of the others had they been paying attention._

 _The line of extravagant materials, fans and hoop skirts is punctuated by the blushing face of Jenna Sommers. Her small waist emerges from an encompassing and full red skirt with panels of floral print repeating throughout. Her neck and shoulders are bare and flushed; tight copper curls frame her reluctant expression. It's her first season out and since she completed school. When I catch her gaze, I try to give her a reassuring smile, but her eyes quickly seek out the floor._

 _I note for the first time that my mother is not with the other women, and Father will have noticed also, because he is already disappeared to his room to change. The rest of the men have now taken his lead and are heading upstairs to change out of their riding attire. I have no desire to waste time, and though I know it will anger Father I step past the ladies into the large drawing room still in my cut away morning coat and riding boots. I follow the sounds of the piano into the adjoining parlor and stand contentedly in the doorway._

 _A fire is crackling in the hearth, and my mother is sitting on the raised stage at the far of the room where the piano resides. Her dress is a dark blue and studded at random with steel-cut sequins that glisten in the firelight. They make it look as if her skirt has swallowed the night sky._

 _Stefan leans against her watching her play. His legs hang over the side of the bench in his cropped trousers, so all I can see are his dress shoes and socks swinging back and forth to the rhythm of the polka my mother plays._

 _Elena is next to him, leaning forward with the heels of her palms on the edge of the piano bench, her fingers curled to the underneath of it. Her feet swing too, but together with one foot crossed over the other. Each time they swing back the crinolines in her dress rustle._

 _A lot of the furniture has been removed, and some of the other younger children are dancing together in front of the fire. One of the Fell boys giggles, and Elena turns to see, a laugh on her face. Dark chestnut curls tied at each side with a red bow bounce around her flushed smile. She spots me, and the smile stretches to her eyes. I return it, pushing off of the door frame and uncrossing my arms._

 _Elena turns back to the piano and leans her cheek against Stefan's, whispering something in his ear. Stefan's legs stop swinging and he turns back to see me, grinning like an idiot._

 _"Damon!" he delights. Mother stops playing abruptly while Stefan jumps down from the bench nearly toppling Elena over with him._

 _"Careful, Stefan," She laughs, swinging her body so that her feet hang from the end of the bench facing me and allowing Stefan easier access to his goal._

 _Now that the music has ceased, the Fell boys and Jeremy Gilbert watch as my brother crosses the room to greet me._

 _"How was the shooting, brother?" he asks eagerly. "I wish I were old enough to join you and Father," he continues without waiting for my response._

 _I smile and tousle his smooth brown locks playfully. "And I wish I were young enough to dance in the parlor all evening while the ladies do all the work."_

 _Mother joins us, putting a long-fingered hand on Stefan's shoulder, leaving Elena to watch us from the piano bench._

 _"He spent a fair amount of time stringing holly berries for the tree with Elena," Lily offers. Stefan looks up at her with a proud gleam in his eye. I watch as Jeremy draws Stefan's attention away with excited mumblings of eggnog. Stefan follows him into the drawing room where most of the party is now gathering, and I turn back to face my mother._

 _Her dark hair is parted and sweeps smoothly over the tops of her ears until it disappears into the neatly gathered mass at the base of her neck. Her otherwise desirably fair complexion for the time is smattered with freckles that I know make her unreasonably insecure._

 _"Damon, you really should change into evening clothes," she warns softly._

 _Her slender fingers cup my cheek, and my own vivid blue eyes stare back at me lovingly through long dark lashes. It's not the look of nurturing adoration she showers on Stefan but the gentle solidarity of living each day trying to please a man in whose eyes we always fall short._

 _I nod, but she knows I won't listen. I look away, remembering that I'm in control of this reality and did not lead it here to be reminded of one parent I could never make proud and the other I could never make happy. My mother disappears to another part of the house, most likely the kitchens to check on the meal. The soft silk of her gloved hand traces my jaw as she leaves._

 _My gaze follows the tinkling hesitant notes of a waltz to its source. My eyes fall on Elena at the piano, her legs too short and the bench too far for her to reach the pedals. Her fingers falter, and she rolls her bottom lip under her teeth in frustration._

 _I dodge a group of Father's friends setting up a table to play cards and sit silently beside her._

 _She starts with a high pitched "Oh!" but her eyes soften when they meet my encouraging smirk. I use my weight to slide her considerably smaller form two octaves down the piano before settling myself back in front of Middle C. Elena sighs and her gloved fingers fall from the yellowed keys to her lap with a rustle._

 _"I'll never learn to play as well as your mother does," she laments._

 _I take her small hands and place them on the same keys an octave apart, forming the chords for an accompaniment to a Christmas carol I'm sure she knows._

 _"No one in Mystic Falls can play as well as Lillian Salvatore," I smile._

 _"You do," she counters, not looking me in the eye. When she finally does, I give her a skeptical look but if she notices I know the curve in my lips will give me away. "I can hear you from the window in the study when Stefan and I play in the hedge maze."_

 _"That could easily be my mother. She uses the piano upstairs to practice when the household is busy."_

 _She shakes her head, more confident now. "It was you. Ladies like Mrs. Salvatore, they don't play Beethoven." I raise an eyebrow but turn back to the piano._

 _Technically, I haven't played the piano in years, since before Elena was born. I show her her part on my own portion of ivories waiting until she can repeat it and get it up to the right tempo._

 _As she plays the simple altered half scale in two octaves I take a breath settling my feet on the pedals and my long fingers on the keys. A part of me must remember, because the familiar melody fills the parlor as the pads of my fingers roll like the balls of feet on a winding musical staircase._

 _Elena smiles up at me, satisfied with how her part fits perfectly into the recognizable melody. A soft and gentle voice joins us and Elena stumbles a moment before regaining her place. Jenna stands by Elena with her hand placed reassuringly in the crook of Elena's neck, rubbing circles where her curls part to fall over her shoulders._

 _Jenna's voice is pleasant and feminine and her eyes don't shrink away from me this time when I catch them. I give her the smile I meant for her earlier, and the corner of her mouth upturns even though she's singing._

 _I turn back to the piano and play with one hand while I flip through my mother's sheet music to show Elena where her part changes. She nods with a smile and catches her cue as I soften the melody._

 _Our impromptu serenade of the party draws to a close, and Elena looks up over her shoulder at Jenna with pride. Before I can instruct her in another piece however, Mrs. Gilbert enters the parlor with Mrs. Fell to round up the children._

 _"Elena, dear," she calls, "It's time to take your supper upstairs, and then to sleep for Father Christmas." There is excitement in Elena's eyes at this notion but also disappointment. She turns to me with a sad smile, "I would much rather learn to play with you. No school in Richmond will teach me Beethoven."_

 _I smile kindly as she hops from the bench and joins her mother. I turn to Jenna who takes a seat next to me._

 _"What does she mean?" I question._

 _"Her father is sending her to Richmond Girls Academy after the New Year," she replies as she flips appreciatively through my mother's collection of sheet music._

 _Grayson Gilbert is the local doctor, and though the Gilberts own a bit of property it is nothing as large as what my own family or the Lockwoods have. Her father wishes to make Elena more desirable for marriage by educating her in the ways of managing a household._

 _I nod and stand from the piano. "A pleasure, Miss Sommers," I bow my head a little and can't help but flash her a boundary pushing smile up through my long dark lashes. She blushes before turning back to the piano, and I make my way carefully upstairs to change before joining everyone in the dining room._

 **Thanks for reading! You'll be seeing more of these retrospective dreams in the future chapters. I wanted to contrast my exploration of a 'what if' future for Delena with a 'what if' past. While the future scenes are reality and these dreams are not, they will be a little bit happier than the angst of real life for the characters. Let me know what you think. I've been enjoying writing about the 1860's as best as I can, but it's hard work and lots of research. Let me know if they seem authentic.**


	6. The Other: Elena3

**Elena**

I've been spending the last few minutes lying here.

I can feel the warmth of the morning sun crawling up my bare feet and calves that never made it underneath any manner of covering last night. My eyes are still closed, my bra twisted uncomfortably around me. At first I didn't move because I was waiting for the inevitable shrill cries of my alarm, but now while staring at the warm orange glow of the back of my eyelids I'm trying desperately to cling on to wherever I was before I woke.

The sun-warmed stones and silt beneath my feet and between my toes, Stefan's smiling and surprisingly young face, and our mothers—our mothers in all their _Gone-With-the-Wind_ glory.

A pair of strong arms carrying me to safety.

Stefan's brother?

And then it melts into a warm fire and soft piano music. The soft brown curls of my youth fall over Stefan's shoulder as I rest my head there. Jenna's thumb rubs soft circles on the back of my neck just like when I was a little girl, but it's gloved. It's gloved just like my own small fingers that fumble across piano keys in front of me.

An angry vibration from my bedside table makes me jump. The comforting orange glow is replaced by harsh daylight as my eyelids burst open in a subconscious need to see my noisy assailant. Everything falls away like sand through my fingers, leaving only a few grains collected in the lines of my palm. Warmth, piercing blue eyes and the distinct absence of their significance is all I'm left with.

I groan, finally looking at the clock which leaves me six minutes more before the alarm was set to go off—a fact that does little to keep Caroline from igniting my phone with loud and frequent spasms.

I grab my phone and press the touchscreen to answer it in speaker phone, laying it on my chest.

"Hey, Caroline," I sigh and pause for the sure coming onslaught.

 **Here is the end of the first part! If you read the first chapter before 7/11/15 then this is the end of that and the next chapter will be a new update! Those of you joining recently let me know how you're liking it. I wanted to keep this chapter just to Damon and Elena's POV for starters, but the next part will include a lot more familiar voices. Let me know if you think I captured the voices of these two characters.**

 **Next, on to Stefan and Caroline's wedding. This was a whole event that was not included in my original outline, but after writing the first chapter I couldn't imagine the story without it. It's the only time the majority of the old gang will be all together for a while, so I wanted to take the opportunity to explore some of their lives five years later before they split apart again.**


	7. There Underneath: Stefan

**Here it is! The beginning of part two and Stefan and Caroline's wedding. I'm going to explore how other relationships have been effected by the past events and I wanted to start with these two. While I'm not always a fan of Stefan, I love the relationship between these brothers. Enjoy getting in Stefan's head on the morning of his wedding.**

 **Chapter Two:** There Underneath

 _You politely asked to take a walk with me,_

 _I would've married you there underneath the trees._

 **Stefan**

I didn't hear him approach.

I blame Matt. Sheriff Donovan's very strict stipulations for our temporary return to Mystic Falls have me back on the 'bunny diet' as my brother so affectionately calls it.

Caroline has a finite cooler of blood bags that she travels with. Her preliminary wedding regimen has left little time to replenish it, however, so I leave her to it. My muffled senses have otherwise been a comfort in the tumultuous chaos of wedding preparations. In this moment, though, I could have used a little warning.

"Brought something to warm up those feet, Baby Bro," his lilting voice breaks my reverie. I swing around in time to catch a pair of balled up black dress socks. After I realize what they are I scowl up at him and toss them onto the bed. He grins back at me from the doorway of my old bedroom. The afternoon sun glares off of a silver signet ring on his left hand.

His smile doesn't relent even in the face of my disapproving look. He simply cocks an eyebrow.

"I'd watch out for stakes if I were you," I can't keep the corners of my mouth from curling, and Damon sees right away. "You missed the rehearsal dinner. When Caroline finds out you're here . . ." I trail off, but my grin betrays the threat.

I've missed my brother.

"I brought a compact witchy distratction," he says as he saunters over to where I stand at the mirror.

"I'm not touching that one," I shake my head and step forward to meet my brother's embrace. He slaps me a few times on the back, squeezes tightly, and pulls away to grasp both my shoulders. His icy blue gaze looks me over and meets my own, seemingly satisfied with what he sees.

"Nice duds, Brother," he comments appreciatively, "Blondie's at least helped to improve your taste."

The nickname for my soon to be wife falls from his tongue with reverence instead of sarcasm. It makes me smirk. The two of them have far more in common than I will ever be able to get them to admit.

Damon takes in my expression and his eyes narrow. "Don't tell her I said that," he adds.

"Sure," is all I reply before turning back to the full length mirror to reattempt the double windsor I was struggling with before my brother appeared. He stands behind my shoulder and observes our reflections with a satisfied smirk I've only seen him wear entering a church.

"So. . ." he broaches after a silent moment, "any reason the Bridezilla Brigade has set up camp in my bedroom?"

I shrug but catch his eyes in the mirror and glimpse the line of questions he's unwilling to ask. "Care said something about the best bathroom and the most outlets." Damon snorts and nods in response but lets the subject drop.

"C'mere," he gestures impatiently, swinging me around by the shoulder so I face him. He deftly unknots the mess I've made and pulls the tie out of my collar before wrapping it around his own neck. He forms the knot swiftly and without even glancing at his reflection.

I watch him for a moment noticing when a brief grimace interrupts his pensive concentration. He quickly masks it as he loosens the knot enough to pull the tie over his own head and pulls it back over mine. It takes me a moment to realize he's heard something from across the house that I can't.

"Thanks," I say turning back to the mirror to tighten the silk around my neck.

"You know," I start and then pause, struggling with how to bring her up.

Damon pilfers absentmindedly through the things on my desk. "Spit it out," he grunts without looking up.

"Have you given any thought to how you're going to handle the whole Maid of Honor situation?"

Damon tosses something back on my desk, rolling his eyes at whatever it was. "You can tell Caroline, I'm flattered," he says placing his hand against his chest in mock gratitude.

"Damon," I interrupt, pressing him for a serious response.

He shrugs and leans back against the desk placing the heel of both palms on the edge of the wood and crossing a boot over the other. "The girls have got it covered with their bridal suite gossip. I'm the prodigal brother returned from my years irresponsibly abroad to repent and repair our strained brotherly bond. It's close enough to the truth—minus a century and a half."

I shake my head. I know he knows that wasn't what I meant, but two evasions later I'm willing to let it go. I know Bonnie had a part in getting him here today. She wouldn't have brought him if she thought he was going to snap and murder all of the guests—especially after the last wedding all of us attended.

I walk over to the desk and brush Damon out of the way. "Can you do me a favor?" I ask as I reach to the other side of the desk and open a small drawer there.

"Anything for you, Baby Brother," he mocks, but I can tell he welcomes the change in subject. I grab one of his hands twisting it palm up and deposit a small black velvet box there.

"I'm in need of a Best Man."

He looks down at the box and then back up at me with a grin that crinkles the corner of his eyes. "What? The quarterback, the wolf, and Little Gilbert all turn you down?"

"Something like that."

"Well, I'm honored, Brother, but there's one small problem," he says gesturing to his black V-neck t-shirt, dark jeans, and black biker boots. "I've got a decent penguin suit or two, but they're currently being guarded by Barbie Bride and her indentured entourage."

I turn back to the mirror to pin a boutonniere to my lapel with a smile. "Your Brioni is hanging on the inside of the closet door. Care thought you might need it."

Damon grins making his way to the closet to appreciate his favorite custom tailored tux before pulling it down with a smile. "Good girl," he adds, I think more for Caroline's benefit than mine.

"I think so," I agree, grinning at my reflection. I hope she's listening.

 **For those of you returning after reading the first part more than a month ago, I apologize. I should have adopted this updating format sooner. Good news is though, that updates will be coming steadily for a while.**

 **Did I capture Stefan effectively? Review and let me know. He has a lot less reason to be broody right now then Damon, so I actually enjoyed writing him happy, and seeing Damon happy for his brother even if he's miserable about everything else.**

 **Next is Bonnie. I know we saw her in the first part, but now we get inside her head a little bit.**


	8. There Underneath: Bonnie

**Thanks to everyone whose been reading. Here's a new update from Bonnie!**

 **Bonnie**

I pause at the base of the stairs and watch as Damon bounds up them. He stops on the landing and glances back. He winks at me with a crooked grin on his face, but I roll my eyes and ignore him.

I'm still mad at him.

We've been in a fight for over a week—a week that we were supposed to be here already—a week of him moping around the loft and refusing to pack. I went to bed dreading that he was going to call my bluff, and I was actually going to have to give in, stomp off to Care's wedding late and without the Best Man in toe. I woke up this morning at six a.m. to a grinning idiot with a thermos of coffee and a flask of blood and whiskey offering to drive the first shift. I don't think the ultimatum I've been giving him—where I refused to go if he didn't—had anything to do with his change of heart. I've missed a weeks worth of pre-wedding events and bridesmaid duties for nothing.

Now I'm staring down the barrel of Caroline's wrath.

And it's all because my moody day-drinking roommate had to wait until this morning to assure me he wasn't going to skip out on his own brother's wedding. I sigh and make my way back to the parlor before crossing to another wing of this superfluously large house. After climbing another flight of stairs and peeking into a few rooms occupied only by furniture draped in dusty white sheets, I catch the sound of tinkling laughter and two familiar voices. Neither of them sound murderous; that's a good sign, right?

I follow their muffled chatter down the hall to an ajar door I hadn't been expecting to find them behind. I should have known, though. It is the largest and probably nicest bedroom in the house, and I know Damon didn't bother to RSVP.

I push the large wooden door open slowly and cautiously.

"Bonnie Sheila Bennett!"

Of course Caroline heard me coming. I'm fed up with vampire hearing.

I give her an apologetic smile, "Hey, the most beautiful bride and the best and most forgiving friend a girl could wish for." That's right. I'm not above flattery and groveling.

Caroline narrows her eyes a little and sets her mimosa down on the bedside table. "All true," she agrees before crossing the room and enveloping me. It's a loving gesture, but she squeezes a little too tightly, and when she releases me, I'm left more than a bit breathless.

"Is that Bonnie?" a voice calls from around the corner to the en suite. Elena steps out as far as she can with a curling iron wound in one of her long tresses. "Where have you been? I've had to defuse potential disasters all week by myself, Bon." She releases a loose curl from the iron and disappears back to the bathroom vanity.

"I know; I'm sorry," I answer sincerely, "In my defense, I'm not the only latecomer. I ran into Stefan's brother on my way inside." I say to Elena, but I look pointedly at Caroline as she hands me a glass of champagne. She nods in understanding.

"Brother?" Elena pops back again. "He's here? I thought they didn't talk?" she questions, turning to Caroline.

I'm glad. I'm crap at this lying stuff. Caroline used to be too, but that's not really true anymore. I hate to say it's because she spends the most time with Elena out of all of us, but it can't really be denied.

"They've been in touch for a few years now, but you know how guys can be about communication," Caroline offers.

I take it back. We both suck. I join Elena at the vanity and set my glass down on the counter. I watch her reflection as she touches up her makeup. A flash of disdain crosses her features.

"You know, because I always thought it had more to do with the fact that he abandoned Stefan after their dad died."

The urge to defend the man that may just be my closest friend crawls up my throat. I bite it back; I have to remember that he chose this. We all did—went along with it at least. I look past Elena and catch Caroline's wide blue eyes, but she looks away.

"The three of us have spent some time together; he's really not that bad. He's Stefan's only family." I smile a little. I think that's the nicest thing I've heard Caroline say about Damon.

"Plus," I flash Elena a lighthearted grin, "he's really hot." I try to lighten the mood. I hope he was listening because I'm not going to repeat myself. Ever. Elena shrugs and giggles. I smile at her before turning back to the mirror to begin getting ready.

I pull the pins from the pile of braids atop my head and let them fall to my collar. Elena turns the curling iron off and leans gently on my shoulder. She wraps an arm around my back and squeezes. "Missed you, Bon," she says.

I sigh and rest my head on hers. "You too, 'Lena." I just wish being with her didn't make me miss her worse. She squeezes me a final time before releasing me and going to retrieve her dress from the illuminated French doors.

Caroline joins me silently. I smile at her, and I'm touched with a pang of guilt for all the ways I'm failing as a friend. She smiles back and leans in close. "Don't think I don't know where you've been for the last six months, Bonnie Bennett," she whispers. It's not an accusation, and I don't deny it.

"He's got the nicest couch," I shrug, trying not to smile too much. Her sculpted eyebrow raises above the other.

"Uh-huh. Sure."

I twist my braids into a knot and secure it below my right ear. Caroline carefully fastens a pearl earring with a gold antique setting. They were her mother's.

As I watch her, a smile suddenly stretches across her face and her big eyes light up. She's never looked more beautiful.

"What?" I demand. I grin when she doesn't say anything. She shakes her head, but the smile doesn't fade.

"I just picked a good one is all." She finishes fastening the second earring before taking a deep breath and clapping her hands together. I recognize that look and busy myself with my makeup. Elena looks over at us with anticipation.

"I've got a hot date with the rest of my life, girls. Let's get to it."

 **Don't forget to review and let me know what you think.**


	9. There Underneath: Jeremy

**A double update! Because I didn't get a chance to get the Bonnie chapter up yesterday. Here's a chance to get inside Jeremy's head.**

 **Jeremy**

"Hey, Man. Nice toast," I say as I fall into the seat next to him. For someone that never ages, Damon looks different than I remember, older—and younger—but not the same.

He doesn't look at me, but half his face crinkles in a smart-ass grin. He's missing his usual tumbler of bourbon. Maybe that's why he looks so different, but when I glance over and spot my sister occupying the bar, I roll my eyes.

"Idiots," I mutter 'cause it's fucking true.

"Got something to say, Jer? Speak up."

I groan and cross my arms over my chest, mocking Damon's own posture. He scowls, sitting up before using his vamp speed to chuck one of the place card holders from the table at my head. I duck, but it still clips me. Even though he's pulling punches, it still hurts like a bitch.

"God, you're still a dick," I growl.

"And you Gilberts are still the bane of my existence," he retorts, but he's smirking again.

"Is that what my sister is? That's definitely not what it sounded like when the three of us were all living under the same roof." I was trying to call him out on his shit as he's so fond of doing to everyone else. Instead I catch his expression at the reminder of that summer and realize it was a lower blow than I'd intended.

I never expected to see my sister human again. I showed up late for what turned out to be the aftermath of Alaric's tragic nuptials five years ago to have Damon inform me that's exactly what had happened. I didn't even have a chance to absorb it before he told me the rest.

 _Your sister's in the hospital because she got attacked by the psychotic witch-siphon that escaped his alternate dimension prison. Again. My magic vampire blood won't heal her anymore, so to protect her I'm gonna fiddle around in her brain, make her forget vampires exist and that she met me before I send her off to New York. Think you could keep from mentioning all that the next time she calls so you don't confuse the fuck out of her? Thanks a lot, Jer._

I punched him out, and he just took it—stood there and looked at me the same way he did just now. It was another few months before I found out from Bonnie that he'd planned on becoming human too and asking my sister to marry him.

I pull the ticket to my exhibition out of my jacket and pass it to him silently. He glances at it and smirks.

"Finally graduate, did you?" he says as he passes the ticket back to me. I glare at it, but he takes my hand and slaps the offensive paper back into it. "You know I can't go, Jeremy," he offers.

"Bullshit," I grumble. I'm tired of watching my sister miss him without knowing that he's gone. "She's been safe for years now. You could end all of this today. I didn't think you were a coward, Damon."

His eyes narrow dangerously, and my Hunter instincts prick at my neck. I forget too easily that he's a vampire. Not that it bothers him to remind everyone. When I look at him though, all I see is the guy that was there for me and my sister when no one else was. He's the idiot that blew himself up to save his brother. He's anything but a coward except when it comes to this ridiculous martyrdom I only thought Elena capable of.

His eyes flicker to someone in the crowd on the dance floor. I follow their direction with my own and find Bonnie.

Damn. She's beautiful.

Damon wraps a hand around the back of my neck and pulls my head closer to his, both our eyes still on Bonnie.

"You've helplessly watched as the women you loved were stolen from you by vampires and magic, Jeremy," he whispers as I strain against his impossible strength. "Don't ever ask me to be that weak again." He pulls his hand back forcefully, and I jerk away without the resistance.

Damon stands without another word and crosses underneath a canopy of twinkle lights.

"Ass," I grunt. He throws his hand in the air in salute without turning back around.

Bonnie watches as Damon slips past her in the direction of where his brother and Caroline are dancing. She looks across the party and meets my gaze. Her brow furrowed in confusion for a moment before she smiles and starts to weave through the crowd towards me. I stand as she approaches. When we meet, it's in the grass between the two tents.

I don't make the first move, but when she reaches me she smiles wider and embraces me. She's so small; she fits so neatly against my chest.

"Jeremy," she breathes as I splay my open hand on the bare skin between her shoulder blades. When she pulls away, it's too soon, but I let her go.

She looks up at me before gesturing back to the dance floor. "What was that about?" she asks. I shake my head and stuff my hands into the pockets of my pants.

"Do you really think the two of them should still be doing this, Bonnie? I mean, he still loves her."

"Yes, he does." When she says it, she sounds sad, "He wants her to be happy."

I look back to where my sister sits at the bar and sigh, "Does she seem happy to you?" Bonnie looks down at the clutch in her hand.

"I'm proud of you, Jeremy," she smiles at her hands before looking back up at me, "Elena showed me the pictures from your graduation. Are you staying in Santa Fe after your exhibition?"

"I'm moving to New York in the fall. An independent comic publisher hired me to do some of the pencils on one of their new horror titles." Her eyes widen, but she smiles to cover the surprise.

"That's great, Jer. I'm happy for you." I watch her gold earrings swing as she turns away from me, and I realize she's trying to say goodbye. My hand shoots out to capture hers.

"Wait, Bonnie. Please, wait," she winces at my words. She waits for me to continue, but I hadn't gotten that far. Her hand is completely enclosed in mine, and she doesn't protest when I pull her closer.

"I thought . . ." I whisper. I close my eyes, but it's a mistake, because it assaults me with the image of the curve of her ass from beneath the hem of my t-shirt. "When you came to Santa Fe, I thought—I mean, I miss you, Bon. Come to New York with me. I've got a place lined up, and if you need to travel for work or school, I can come with you. I can work from anywhere. We can . . ." but her expression makes me stop. Her lips are parted and trembling. Her eyes are trying to apologize, and I'm done. It's over.

She places her palm against my chest. "I've been in New York for a while now, Jeremy—since Boston." Her voice is strained and thick.

"Since Santa Fe, you mean? If you have your own place . . ." she shakes her head.

"I'm not there all the time. I'm out of town a lot, and it's just not—I just crash on the couch,"

"Where?" I interrupt.

"At Billy's, but I-"

"With Damon?" I drop her hand, and when I back away the other falls from my chest. "Since Santa Fe." This time it's not a question.

"It's not—he and I are friends. You and me—I'm glad you're coming to New York—I'm just, I can't right now, Jeremy. I'm sorry."

I believe her. I wish I knew how to make her stay.

"Bon," I plead, but she's already gone, and I never figured out how to make her stay.

 **Don't forget to review! I love seeing all of you reading, but I want to hear what you think.**


	10. There Underneath: Caroline

**Sorry I haven't updated in a while.**

 **Even though this is a relatively short one, this is the scene that spawned this whole wedding tangent. These two always reminded me of a reluctant brother and sister on the show, after season one anyway.**

 **Caroline**

My head is resting on Stefan's shoulder when he approaches. I open my eyes to look at him but leave my head where it is. His hair has grown longer in the time since I've last seen him. A piece of it hangs in his eyes—his sad blue eyes. He's always been so cavalier with his feelings, insistent that he doesn't care or that nothing affects him. Now that I've grown brave enough to look him in the eye, I know that's not true. Everything affects him; he feels everything, and the fact that it hasn't driven him mad is a credit to the control no one thinks he has.

Of course, eternity is plenty of time to lose your mind.

"Mind if I cut in, Brother?" he smiles at me, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

Stefan lifts his chin from its resting place on the crown of my head and turns to his brother. He pulls apart from me, but his open palm still fills the small of my back.

"Only if you promise to giver her back," Stefan smiles.

With all of the love lost between these two over loving the same girl, I expect a level of snark in his reply, but all I can find is sincerity.

"I promise."

Stefan looks at me, and I nod, glad he didn't try to hand me over to his brother without asking my permission. His fingertips leave a trail on my waist as he leaves. Before I can exhale, Damon fills the void his brother left. He pulls me close, not as close as Stefan, but affectionately close. He leads me around the dance floor with the slightest pressure against my waist. I love Stefan, but there's no denying his brother is the better dancer. I would know; I was Miss Mystic Falls after all.

"Where've you been, Damon?"

"Around," he flashes his eyes at me, and the corner of his mouth twitches. He thinks he can get away with vague non-answers.

"Uh-huh, is that the same 'around' Bonnie is always disappearing off to?" He grimaces but he doesn't respond. "The two of you think you're so clever, but I sent both your wedding invitations to P.O. boxes in Manhattan, and then you both conveniently showed up together this afternoon."

He swings me out, and when he pulls me back in with a flourish, he's smiling. This time it reaches his eyes. There's a mischievous glint in them.

Damon dips me so low the breath flees my lungs, and a few of my golden curls whisper against the dance floor. I chuckle heartily, letting him distract me. He swiftly pulls me back up

"You look spectacular," he says to me with a smirk. He does know how to change a subject, "though if there's someone here who hasn't said so already, I'll have to eat them."

I roll my eyes.

"I had a hard time topping my prom dress. That's the last time I borrow from royalty for mediocre high school milestones."

"Ah, don't tell me an original hybrid stole this one for you, too." I make a disgusted face and shake my head.

"Uggh. No. Just a season in Paris and a lot of compulsion."

"Well it certainly paid off." He spins me, and the skirt of my dress expands by a few feet at least.

"Thanks," I smile before the music transitions, and I smile wider. Damon exhales pointedly and drops his chin against his chest. _Heart of Glass_ fills the reception. I pull away to give us more room to dance to the faster tempo but hold onto his wrists.

"Of all the accumulated music from all the years my brother and I have been alive," he mutters.

"You can blame Stefan for Bon Jovi," I grin, "This was purely for your benefit."

"Sure it was, Blondie."

Damon dances enthusiastically through the first couple of verses, but I catch his gaze drift across the party more than once. I follow the direction of his glances knowing before I look what I'll find.

"All the magical walls you've built with compulsion won't come crumbling down if you ask her to dance."

His eyes narrow, "No, not _those_ walls."

The way his face crumples breaks my heart.

"I was kinda looking forward to having a brother now too," I blurt out, making his eyebrows lift further into his hair. "You should come with us."

"What? On the honeymoon?" he laughs. "I don't think you and my brother are ready for that."

I shake my head, "No, I meant after we get back. Come stay with us. We'll make this whole dysfunctional vampire family thing work. You don't have to be alone, Damon."

"I'm not alone, Caroline," he deflects with a suggestive grin and a flash of his eyes.

"First of all, if that has anything at all to do with Bonnie—Eww, Gross. Secondly, I'm serious-"

He puts his hands on my shoulders to stop me. "I'm serious too, Bridezilla. Your newlywed bicycle doesn't need my third wheel." He smiles. I sigh before stepping forward and threading my arms around his waist.

He tenses for a moment with his arms still at his sides before he wraps one around my shoulders and sets his chin on the top of my head. "You're scandalizing your relations," he chuckles.

I pull back and smile at him, "You mean _our_ relations."

"Oh, I definitely did not agree to take that on." He grabs my wrist with a grin and spins me out and into the arms of my husband. Stefan smiles at me lovingly.

"Don't be a stranger, Brother," I call to Damon's retreating form. He cocks his head back in our direction with a lopsided smirk.

"Sure thing, Little Sis," and he disappears into the crowd.

 **I love these two.**

 **Anyway, let me know what you think and review. Thanks for reading.**


	11. There Underneath: Damon

**Alright. Here it is. Damon and Elena's first conscious interaction in the last five years.**

 **Damon**

Fuck. I'm screwed.

With Blondie safely deposited back in the arms of Baby Bro as promised, there's no longer any impediment between me and a very fine pair of legs—a pair of legs punctuated in a pair of nude pumps currently hooked around the cross section of a barstool determined to drive a specific man to madness. Namely me.

At least if she's at the bar I can accomplish two dead birds with the casting of the same proverbial stone. Getting through this is going to require one hell of a stiff drink. Or two. I cross the lawn to the east tent and approach the bar from behind her left shoulder.

"Whiskey. Neat," I tell the cater-waiter manning the bar before saddling into the stool next to her. She inhales sharply at my abrupt appearance. The first two blueberry mojitos—Caroline's version of a 'something blue' signature cocktail—have dulled her senses. Elena was stirring the third with a cocktail straw lazily before I startled her.

The Donovan wannabee pours two fingers of bourbon in a highball and sets it in front of me while the bane of my existence makes a first impression of me for the third time. Or is it the fourth? Who can keep track.

She drops the straw back into her drink and angles herself toward me. I steel myself with a generous swallow of bourbon before turning to meet her inquisitive gaze.

I smile with all the charm I can manage. "You must be Elena," the words fall from my mouth before I can catch them. "I'm Damon," I tell her, "the groom's brother." This time I know better than to touch her. I bring my lips to the rim of my glass instead of her knuckles. The corner of my smirk curls even around the crystal, and I flare my eyes in warning.

If only I could be certain of what I was going to do, of how this was going to end. She should know, sense on some level that she's not entirely safe with me.

"I know who you are," she counters. Damn girl never did know when to run, even when she was fully aware of what I was capable. She narrows her eyes in a challenge, and I chuckle as I gesture for the server to pour me another whiskey.

"I see you've been grossly misinformed of my character, Miss Gilbert."

"On the contrary," She begins, pausing to take a long pull from her straw, "That would require someone to inform me. Everyone seems pretty determined to defend you with silence, but I'd say a nine year absence speaks pretty loudly for itself."

Nope. I was wrong. Can't do this.

She's staring at me with a fierce passion in her eyes, and all I can think about is how long I've wanted to kiss her. That's a disaster I just don't need. I try to mask everything that has me conflicted with a smile before sliding off my stool and leaving her.

"Wait. Where are you going?" she stumbles to catch up with me. There's a flush in her cheeks and across her collarbone. It triggers memories that cause more than one part of my body to react with fervor.

I've stopped before I realize I've even made the decision.

"There's more than one lady her tonight willing to dance with me," I answer nodding in the direction of a group of girls—Caroline's theater friends from Whitmore.

Elena's eyes narrow as she watches one of them throw their head back in obnoxious laughter. Her expression changes as she realizes something, and she turns toward me.

"You were going to ask me to dance?"

"You seem surprised. It is a party." Her earlier disdain for me seems to be at least momentarily replaced by hesitant curiosity. I think we were both safer with the former.

"Stefan was never a fan of dancing. I used to have to beg him when we dated in high school. Caroline's good for him. She makes him dance." Elena glances lovingly at the newlyweds on the dance floor. My brother presses his cheek to Caroline's ear and whispers something romantic and retch worthy. She eats that shit up and leads Stefan away with a grin.

"They certainly were made for one another. I don't know another soul that could put up with either of them for an eternity." Elena scowls at that.

"An eternity?"

God. Shit. I keep fucking this up.

"How can you be so romantic and so cynical in the same sentence?"

Thank god for metaphors.

"Eternity isn't romantic, Elena; it's a struggle."

"Struggles can be romantic," she argues before she realizes what she's said and her eyes widen, "with someone you love, I mean," she qualifies. I chuckle as I finish the rest of my bourbon.

"You seem to have won over Caroline," she says, trying to change the subject. I'm happy to let her.

"It's not as if she would be able to resist my charms," I grin at Elena. She eyes me with suspicion. I move in a little closer, imposing on her personal space and listen to the way her heartbeat flutters in response. I couldn't erase her body's memory of me even if I did erase her mind's. Her lips part and she swallows thickly. She's so gloriously human, and before her I never thought that was a compliment.

"Is that what you call it?" she breathes. I laugh through my nose and step back.

"I know what you think of me, Elena, and I have no problem letting you think it." 

"You could hardly know what I'm thinking," she scoffs but her expression is uncertain.

"That I'm a dick." She laughs, her dark eyes smiling with her. She takes a breath to respond, but I raise an eyebrow to challenge her, and she stops. I step further away.

I need more bourbon. I should never have left the bar. My intrusion on Elena's personal space was meant to return to me something I've lost. Control. Sanity. Something.

All it did was light my chest on fire.

Something in my expression or maybe the way my body is trying to flee the presence of hers changes Elena.

"I thought you wanted to dance?" the laugh is still on her lips, but her eyes are wide and vulnerable.

In my desperation to escape, I very nearly didn't recognize it. But there it is. Rejection.

Fuck. She thinks I don't want her, and I have to let her keep thinking that. I've let the universe turn me into Katherine Fucking Pierce. I can't get rid of the bitch.

The days where I let Elena convince me that the universe couldn't screw us over as long as we loved one another have passed.

I stop and look up at her smiling, "Goodnight, Elena."

 **If you're out there reading, let me know what you think in a review.**


	12. There Underneath: Elena

**Another Chapter for you.**

 **Elena**

 _"He's so brave," I hear Louisa, a shopkeeper's daughter from town, swoon to her friend from where I sit against the wall in the Lockwood's ornate ballroom. She's talking about George Lockwood whose return from Camp Lee in Richmond and graduation from Virginia Military Institute is the occasion for this party. It's the first ball open to the public at the Lockwood's since the signing of the Mystic Falls town charter._

 _Though Louisa and many other faces I recognize from time spent in town and at my father's practice are here, few have bothered to talk to me. Since I have returned from Richmond a 'properly educated woman' and the Gilberts were included in the founding of Mystic Falls, I'm now incapable of any meaningful social interaction. The townspeople with whom I used to make easy friends now regard me with the distance they do that of a plantation owner. Those with which I am now meant to socialize greet me with the polite and strained etiquette of the upper class. Etiquette in which I am now completely trained._

 _I wish Stefan were here. I miss my friend, but he is too young to join me here tonight and too old to spend the summer sneaking away to the swimming hole and climbing apple trees in the orchard. Since his mother died, many more of our encounters include curtsies than not._

 _I stand to observe the couples dancing. Most of the men are on the dance floor, though there are many ladies uncoupled on the sidelines. News of the succession and the impending conflict has been arriving since April, and the men of Mystic Falls are departing._

 _For Glory. For Virginia._

 _The lack of suitable dance partners is the only complaint I've heard about the war since I've been home again._

 _I pace slowly at the edge of the crowd. The evergreen material that makes up the flounces in my skirt reflects the generous amount of candlelight throughout the room. No expense was spared in the making of my dress. It feels wasted on me, like the dance card that's tied around my satin covered wrist._

 _From where I stand now, I can see Jenna and George. They are dancing the second dance of the set. George gazes at her with adoration as they turn. He loves her. He must the way he looks at her, but Jenna seems more in love with the exertion of the fast paced dance. Her cheeks are flushed and a smile lights her eyes._

 _A beautiful fragrance makes me turn my attention away from them in search of it. My eyes fall on a group of long gloved fingers twirling a branch of orange blossom just in front of me._

 _"Happy Birthday, Miss Elena," his smile and then his bright blue eyes are what I see first as I reach out to accept the offering. I bring one of the flowers under my nose and inhale while looking back up at him over its white petals._

 _"Have you been properly finished?" he asks, and I can't help laughing at the thought._

 _"Sufficiently, I suppose." I reply as I pluck one of the blossoms from my gift and spin it between my thumb and forefinger. "I learned to do everything adequately and nothing proficiently."_

 _"The perfect southern woman," he laughs. I turn to hide my blush at his calling me that. Even I still feel like a girl parading in a woman's clothes. I can't imagine anyone seeing me as a woman._

 _"Have you seen Stefan? He did not think you would be so long in Charlottesville. He was anxious for you to return." Stefan has talked of little else in the last six weeks, so much that I have found myself anxious for Damon's return as well._

 _I've seen so little of him in the last few years. My summers home from school have been passed with Stefan. Since Lily died, Damon's time home from University has been spent indoors with his father, learning the business of their estate._

 _"I've just come from him," he smiles again as he takes the flower from my hand, "He told me the orange blossoms were your favorite and that George had stolen all of the attention away from your birthday." I look down to avoid the intensity of his eyes and notice the blemish of dirt on his tailcoat. His gaze follows mine, and he laughs as he brushes it away._

 _"I had to go through the orchard to find the blossoms. I do hope my late arrival hasn't deprived me the honor of a dance at your first ball," as he says it, he deposits the flower in my hair, "Your dance card must be full."_

 _The way he says it doesn't bother me that it's not, and I laugh and shake my head. "All but the next set," I lie, unwilling to wait for his long-fingered hand to help me weave the smell of orange blossom throughout the entire hall._

 _"Wonderful," he extends his arm for me to take and smiles when I link my own in it. His face is still a young man's, but his smiles etch creases in it now—in his cheeks and around his eyes. I catch myself hoping it is because he smiles often._

 _When we get closer to the dance floor, he releases me to greet George. Jenna and George have finished their dance, and when the eldest of the Lockwood boys—now a man like I am supposed to be a woman—spots his friend he exclaims, "Mr. Salvatore, my lovely man! Where have you been?"_

 _"George!" Damon replies while they hug before stepping back to arm's length to look at one another. Jenna, whose face is still flushed and breathing still quick from the Mazurka, takes my hand while admiring the addition to the hair she helped me style._

 _"That university of yours still open? I thought you would have returned by now," George asks Damon._

 _"They rushed graduation in the spring. I don't know how many students they'll have, but I've heard no talk of closing. I'm done as it is, though. I stayed behind in Charlottesville on business for Father. He's been ill."_

 _I furrow my brow for a bit. Stefan did not say their father was ill, but I have not seen Mr. Salvatore here tonight and did not think about it until now._

 _"Ah," George nods, clapping a hand on Damon's shoulder, "I've missed you, friend. I head back to Richmond in a few days. I could put in a word and you could come up in a few weeks. Even you could take a few Yanks after we trained you up a bit."_

 _My mouth parts for a moment in shock._ But he just got home _is all I can think. It is an odd thing to think with so many girls in town espousing the virtues and glory of war._

 _"I'm needed here," is all Damon says. The creases in his smile are gone. I take a breath, not realizing until now that I had stopped._

 _"Surely, Stefan could . . ." George begins again in protest, but the look it elicits from Damon is one I've never seen him give so close a friend, " . . . could help your father. . ." he loses steam before he can finish._

 _"Stefan is not yet fifteen," Damon growls in response._

 _My face is occupied by worry now. I turn to Jenna who catches on and grasps both my hands in excitement._

 _"Tell me you will dance, Elena. You have sat out too many dances to be tired. If you have no partner, I shall oblige Mr. Lockwood . . ."_

 _"I promised the next to Mr. Salvatore I interrupt quickly, hoping the heat in my cheeks does not mean I'm blushing again. I don't dare look at Damon again until they cool down._

 _"Miss Gilbert," George delights as if he had not before realized it was me, "It would hardly be an obligation. You are the loveliest lady here, excepting Miss Sommers, of course." He smiles as he takes my gloved hand to kiss it. "I would certainly be honored if you would save me one of the later dances."_

 _"Certainly," I reply without thinking, eager to have my hand returned to me. Just as my cheeks had finally returned to normal, I remember what I told Damon earlier and they reignite._

 _Couples begin to line up for another set and Damon extends his arm to me again. I take it and he escorts me to the dance floor for a quadrille. I avoid his eyes until I must meet them as we both bow and curtsy respectively._

 _He's smiling—grinning, actually. It charms a small smile of my own in response, though a hesitant one._

 _"You did not want o risk me asking a second dance of you?"_

 _The dance begins, but with two other pairs in our formation. Damon and I wait for our turn, close enough for conversation._

 _"I told you I learned proficiency at nothing while I was away, including dance." He laughs at this. "The waltz was my best."_

 _Before he can respond, we begin our portion of the dance, picking up each time where we left off when we reunite._

 _"I see," he smiles, "This set is the last waltz of the evening."_

 _I chuckle and nod._

 _The rest of the dance is spent in the easy rhythm of conversation and dancing. We regale each other with our time away. Now that I'm out in society, I tell him what he has missed of town gossip. He talks of the books he's read and the people he's met. I tell him of Stefan, though it is not much. I have not had so meaningful or as enjoyable a conversation in Mystic Falls all summer._

 _He asks about my writing, something I did not think he knew about, and he admits that a few of the stories I sent to Stefan have made their way to him. He promises to keep it a secret and admits to enjoying most of them._

 _When he makes me laugh I miss steps. The other couples express their displeasure with scathing glances, but Damon always catches me up. Talking is easy with him, like it used to be with Stefan._

 _As the dance comes to an end, we separate and wait for the waltz to begin. We bow and curtsy and meet as the music starts. My right hand is clasped in his left. With his other at my waist and my free arm extended, he turns me among the other couples._

 _All of our grace is his. I know the steps well, but with all of the girls at school I have practiced, we could not have achieved this result. It is quiet for a while, though we have more privacy than in the quadrille._

 _He watches me reverently, but his attention doesn't make me uneasy the way that George's had. I wish I hand not promised him a dance. I would dance them all with Damon if I could. A thought strikes me again that makes me frown, and it doesn't go unnoticed._

 _"What is it?" he asks._

 _"Are you going to war?" I ask, though I probably shouldn't. It's not polite conversation._

 _"I meant what I said. I'm needed here—for now." I narrow my eyes to assure him that I noticed the addition._

 _"Stefan would miss you horribly," I say because I think it is the only person Damon believes truly loves him. He smiles as we continue to turn around the room._

 _"Stefan would have his horses and plenty of pretty girls to entertain him."_

 _"You are more to him than that," I say, and he accepts it without argument. We spend the rest of the dance in silence, but there is ease in it._

 _We are the envy of the other dancers as well as the spectators. When we part, he thanks me for my company._

 _"You should give yourself more credit, Miss Gilbert," he says, "You are a more than adequate dance partner."_

 _The girl beside me does not understand, from her expression, why such a compliment should make me laugh as I do._

 **Okay, so here's another dream of 1860's time. I've had one person express that the dreams from the last part made the story worse for them, so I'm curious to hear opinions on this chapter. These kind of have a central purpose to the story so let me know if you hate them or if you're enjoying them and why.**


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